


If You Love Something...

by SnailWrites (SymbioteSpideypool)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels Are Known, Angel Sam, Angel Wings, Angels, Angels are basically humans with wings, Apocalypse, Biblical References, Biblical Reinterpretation, Demons, Implied/Referenced Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Mother Hen Dean, Pre-Apocalypse, Prophets, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymbioteSpideypool/pseuds/SnailWrites
Summary: Dean Winchester is hiding out in a secret bunker with his angel brother while they try to hunt down the thing that killed their mother, and track down their missing father. The last thing he needs is a socially inept escaped angel fucking up his life, ruffling Sam's feathers, and dragging them all into something even bigger than any of them were prepared for: The Apocalypse.





	1. Lovebird

Castiel walked down the long hall, with no particular destination in mind. It was pouring rain outside today, and the rain always made him sleepy. He yawned, but resisted the urge to stretch. His wings itched and he wanted desperately to unfold them, but he knew better than to risk it. It was almost impossible to get the bands fastening the ends of his wings together back on without help, anyways.

“The commons are to your left. Breakfast is at seven, lunch is at noon, and dinner is at six. If you are late, you will not eat,” said the voice of the headmaster. Castiel’s head snapped up as he heard the headmaster approach with what was probably a new angel in tow. He quickly ducked into the nearest alcove and pulled the heavy red curtain in front of him, hoping he would not be spotted. The last time he had been caught wandering, his outdoor privileges had been revoked for almost two weeks.

Castiel peeked through the curtain as they passed, mildly curious about the new angel. She had bright green wings with blue tips, which dusted the floor as she walked. Colorful, like a lovebird. He grimaced in sympathy. She would not be here long. Her face was hidden by a curtain of red hair, and she moved sluggishly, as though she had been drugged. He watched the pair pass by and continue on down the hall. The girl’s wings were not bound like his and his eyes widened in horror at the jagged ends of her wings. The only time angels were permitted to walk freely without bands was when their wings had been clipped. It was technically illegal to do so to an angel, but it remained a common practice. To have one’s wings clipped is a punishment. A disobedient angel that tries to run, loses their ability to fly.

Castiel hurried in the other direction once they had passed. 

~~~

At dinner he saw the girl again. She was hard to miss, a shock of green in an ocean of browns and blacks. Castiel had been lucky. His feathers were black and plain. He was much less eye-catching than those with colorful wings full of greens, blues and reds. The plainer he was, the less trouble sought him out. He liked it that way, being invisible.

The girl looked a bit lost, but she didn’t seem to care too much. She just stared blankly ahead, making no move to help herself or look for assistance. He picked the table farthest from the girl. The other angels parted around her as though she were poison. No one wanted to draw unnecessary attention by interacting with her. He felt bad for leaving her to fend for herself, but in all honesty she wasn’t long for this world. If she wasn’t plucked or beaten to death first by her “brothers and sisters,” then she would be taken away by some rich fetishist. Colors were a curse, but so were white wings. Pure white wings always gathered attention from religious fanatics and cultists who were often just as bad. 

He glanced up at the girl again and saw one of the orderlies marching her down the table. Perhaps she was afraid of eating, she did look thin. Even thinner than angels normally were. Hollow bones and the slop they were fed here meant it was hard to be anything other than thin and gaunt. 

To his dread he realized the orderly was leading the girl down to his end of the table. He paled and lowered his head, silently begging for them to pass him by, but to no avail. She was sat down directly across from Castiel. He continued to eat in silence, afraid to even glance upward.

“Hey you, with the black wings,” the orderly said. 

Castiel’s heart dropped down to his feet and the runny potatoes in his mouth turned to ash. He swallowed slowly and raised his eyes. The orderly was staring right at him.

“This one is really stupid and I don’t want to waste my time feeding her like a baby. You do it,” the orderly commanded him and walked off. 

Castiel could feel the weight of the stares focused on him. The entire room was waiting to see what he would do. If he helped her, then he would be forever linked to the girl with the green wings. The orderlies might even make it a habit of having him play nursemaid, but if he ignored the orderly, he risked the wrath of the headmaster.

Castiel stood and left his plate where it was. He wouldn’t be eating it anyways. Sitting down next to the girl he schooled his kept his face carefully blank and picked up her spoon. He dabbed the spoonful of potatoes against her lips and, to his relief, she opened her mouth to eat. She chewed and swallowed the food on her own as Cas spoon fed her bite after bite of the bland, tasteless meal.

Only when he had finished did he take the time to really look at her, and what he saw there was the face of a young woman, once full and freckled, now battered and sallowed. The eyes were what stuck him with an odd sense of déjà vu. They were… familiar. He had only known one red haired, green winged angel before though, and she had disappeared years ago. Before he could think he grabbed her hand and turned it over. He found a little scar at the base of her pinky finger, the very same his childhood friend, Anna, had gotten when she had been bitten by a rabbit she caught in the garden. He gasped in shock. 

“Anna,” he whispered, but the girl didn’t respond.

The angel to his left coughed suddenly and Castiel immediately turned to stare at the table, dropping Anna’s hands. He knew this girl. He had grown up with her, and failed to escape with her. He glanced down at the chopped flight feathers at the ends of her wings and suppressed a shudder. She was the one who had paid the price for his stupidity. He turned back to the table and waited for the chime that would signal the end of dinner. This time he would be the one to save her, even if it cost him his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of every chapter I want to focus on an angel's wings. For this chapter I'll do Anna. She has the wings of a lovebird.   
>   
> Hers are more green than blue though, and much of the iridescence has been lost due to her neglect of her wings and because of her poor health. I chose the lovebird because I wanted her to have colorful wings, and I though the blush of pink on the love bird was like Anna's hair. Lovebirds are known for their social behavior and devotion towards loved ones. Lovebirds who loose their partner have been known to die of a broken heart. As more of Anna's story is revealed, the symbolism will make more sense.


	2. Raven

Castiel crept along the hall under the cover of night, trying to keep his wings as close to his body as he could get them so that they wouldn’t brush up against something by accident. He made his way to the girls dormitory and slipped the key out of his sock. He had been lucky enough to find it while walking around outside about a month ago. He had felt little remorse for the guard who had lost it in the first place.

Slowly turning the key in the lock he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. He blinked and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Soon he was able to make out some of the prone figures not so quietly slumbering. The snoring was just as bad as it was in the boys dormitory. He headed to the back where he hoped Anna would be. In the boys dormitory the new angels were put in the beds farthest from the door. He hoped it would be the same for the girls.

Once he made out her brilliant wings in the moonlight seeping through the barred windows, he placed a hand on her back and shook her lightly. “Anna,” he whispered. “Anna. I need you to follow me, and be quiet.”

Without a word of complaint or question, she got up from the bed and followed Castiel as he grabbed her hand and pulled her along, escaping the dormitory and relocking the door behind them. He tried not to look at the blinking red light of the security camera that would no doubt reveal his crimes come sunrise when he failed to fulfill any of his duties. He guessed they would have maybe five hours’ head start before their absence was discovered. The sooner they started to run the better their chance of escape would be.

They slipped through a door in back, leading to the kitchens from the outside. Earlier Castiel had managed to jam the lock just before bed, when the kitchen staff went home for the night. He removed the piece of fabric from the deadbolt and silently shut the door. Unfortunately as the lock clicked into place, the alarm went off as well.

Castiel swore under his breath and broke out into a frantic run, dragging Anna behind him through the pounding rain. She barely seemed to be aware of what was happening. Her feet dragged and her steps were slow. She would not run faster no matter how hard he pulled her.

“Anna, please! Run faster!” he begged her as they stumbled over roots and branches, the sound of shouting and ringing alarms steadily rising behind them.

They were sure to be caught. And if Anna was caught again… Castiel dismissed the thought. He wouldn’t let that happen. He just couldn’t.

They ran as fast as they could go with Anna dragging behind. They didn’t make it very far when they heard the dogs. Even Anna seemed to blanch at the sound. Castiel looked around wildly, urging her on ever faster. The dogs were getting closer. He could hear them excitedly barking, urged on by angry guards. His breathing was ragged and his legs burned. They weren’t going to make it.

Castiel stopped, panting harshly, and pulled Anna to a mossy area. He dropped to his knees and ripped up chunks of moss and dead vegetation. Pulling Anna down, Castiel laid her gently in the hollow, face down, so that her wings wouldn’t be crushed.

“Don’t move until they’re gone,” he told her before covering her back up with the large swatches of moss. Castiel threw dead leaves and whatever else he could find over her to cover the fresh earth before making sure she had a hole to breathe through. Hopefully the rain would interfere with the dogs’ sense of smell.

“I’m not going to let them take you,” he promised before taking off running again, crashing through low branches and ignoring the pain of thorns catching in his skin. He could feel a stitch in his side and he wanted to stop and throw up. His breathing was ragged and he was practically inhaling water, but he wouldn’t stop. He had to lead the dogs away from Anna. His feet pounded against the earth, sending water spraying with every step. He had to make sure she would be safe. He had to-

Just then he spotted a clearing, it was just big enough to open his wings in. With a surge of desperation he jumped into the air, a flash of lightning illuminating his struggling ascent. Water poured over his body, drenching his hair and face, weighing him down. Castiel gritted his teeth and flapped his wings harder, rising above the trees. In the distance he could see a barn. It was dark and deserted. It was a place to hide. 

A gunshot close by his head startled Cas and he dropped several feet, skimming the tree line. He could feel himself losing control, unable to rise any further and fearing the forest below. Turning towards the barn and locking his wings so that he could glide down, Castiel tensed and waited for the worst. He didn’t wait long, however. A stray branch clipped his wing and sent him into a spin, crashing through the trees and plummeting towards the earth. He felt a sharp pain in his back as he slammed against a trunk, which slowed his fall. He landed hard on the spongey earth and crawled to his hands and knees. He grimaced in pain, but was relieved to find that he could still move his wings with ease. He stood and tested his weight on each foot, but neither of his legs were hurt. By some miracle he hadn’t died yet. He took off running towards the barn. He wasn’t going to waste a miracle when it slapped him in the face. 

Lightning crashed in front of him as he reached the barn. He could hear a deafening crack as the telephone pole next to the barn exploded. His ears were ringing and his eyes were full of bright spots. He caught his breath and entered the barn, walking slowly as he tried to let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t see a thing in the dark, and even the sound of pouring rain was muffled as he walked slowly forward.

He heard a voice before he saw the man.

“Who are you?” the man asked in fear.

Castiel blinked again and the spots in his eyes faded. The man was looking horrorstruck at Castiel’s chest. Castiel looked down and saw a knife handle protruding from his chest. He couldn’t really feel it, so he pulled it out and tossed it aside.

“What are you?” the man asked instead, slowly backing away.

“My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lorde-“ Castiel was cut off by the sound of barking in the distance.

Castiel’s wings fluffed up behind him as they opened, a clear sign of fear.

“Are they chasing you?” the man asked him urgently.

Castiel’s wide eyes met his, and he nodded.

“Fuck!” the man swore, kicking a table full of lit candles and what looked like a pool of paint, or blood. “Come on Bobby. We need to move, now.”

“What about him,” Bobby, the older man, gestured to Castiel.

“We’ll take him with us,” the man said bluntly.

“Dean,” Bobby said warningly.

Dean didn’t even bother to respond. He scooped a pile of weapons, chalk, bowls, and vials full of strange odds and ends into a giant bag and threw it at Bobby who caught it and muttered a string of curses as he left the barn.

Dean started pouring gasoline around the barn and Castiel had the sense to move out of his way as he traveled towards the doors, snatching up the bloody knife Castiel had just pulled out of his chest.

Dean turned around and told him, “Get in the truck. Do whatever Bobby says. I’m gonna get you out of here alive, Cas.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and then, none to gently, shoved him out the door. 

Castiel found the old pickup around the side of the barn. Bobby had him lay down in the bed of the truck while he piled empty bags and a few tarps on top of him. The last thing he saw before the tarp covered his eyes was Dean running from the blazing barn and shouting for Bobby to start the truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has raven wings, so I like to think they're a bit longer than Anna's were before they were cut. His wings drag on the floor behind him when he has them folded, so he really doesn't like it when he can't walk with them open.  
>   
> Cas's wings are jet black with a bluish sheen on the outer primaries and secondaries. His wing color is considered entirely uninteresting because of the lack of pattern and color. I picked the raven because the color scheme fits, and because ravens are really fucking cool. They're incredibly intelligent, even acting as oracles in greek mythos. They're most closely related to Apollo, the god of prophesy and are associated with good luck. However, the raven is also seen as an ill omen, following the American civil war especially, because they would visit battlefields to pick over the carcasses of the fallen soldiers. In Native North American Pacific Northwest mythology, the raven is considered the creator. He stole the sun, the moon, the stars, and everything humans needed to live. Sometimes considered a trickster god, Raven goes against even gods to get what he wants, and he will use whatever means necessary to do so. I don't see Cas as evil, but his motivations and reasoning are widely different from the other characters, and it will often cause him to act in a way that harms others.


	3. Shoebill Stork

Castiel felt like he had been in that rumbling pickup for days. It was hard to stand the smell of gasoline, smoke, and his own filth for so long. His breathing was shallow and uncomfortable under the tarp, but he allowed himself no more than a small hole to the outside. He had come too far to let such a small error entrap him. He lay on his stomach with his head cradled in his arms. He’d tried resting it against the bed of the truck, but had only gotten a bruise on his forehead for his efforts. The truck was old and the roads were anything but smooth, especially in the night. The roar of the truck’s engine was drowned out by the sound of rain crashing against the tarps that covered him. It would have been a small solace, keeping dry, but the water flowed under the tarp and drenched him. He was shivering violently in the cold.

When the truck did finally stop, it was still raining. Castiel had a sudden terrifying thought. What if Dean had saved him, just so that he could be rewarded for turning in a runaway angel. It would certainly make up for whatever Castiel had interrupted the other day. He was foolish to trust a stranger, much less one that had stabbed him upon sight. He gritted his teeth and prepared to launch himself at his captors, but the chance never came. He started when he felt the truck rumble to life again. His fate was delayed, for now.

Through the rest of the trip, Castiel failed to escape. The truck never slowed, and he feared being seen, were he to throw off the tarp to see his surroundings. His imagination ran wild as he pondered his fate. There was little else to do. Maybe he would be sold off as a pet or a slave. Maybe they would take him to some back alley doctor to be torn to pieces for parts. Angel bone was supposed to be a cure all in some cultures. Castiel shuddered in the cold. He believed it to be nothing more than superstition, or the base of his wing would not be twinging in pain every time the truck hit a sharp curve.

The truck slowed and the rain came to a sudden, abrupt stop. Castiel tensed and prepared himself for a fight. When the tarp was pulled off of him, he was momentarily blinded by the flashlight in his face, but he swung out anyways, trying to catch his captors off guard.

“Holy shit,” said Dean, and the flashlight moved wildly. “Hey, not gonna hurt you!” Dean held his hands up placatingly, still shining the light in Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel had stumbled backwards into a corner in the bed of the truck. He was breathing wildly, an arm held out to shield his eyes.

“Where am I?” he demanded.

Dean still held his hands up. “Pit stop. You’ll be safe here, I promise,” Dean said.

Castiel’s eyes slowly became used to the light and he looked around the small building in which the truck had been parked. “Where is your friend?” Castiel demanded once again.

“He went inside to grab some supplies,” Dean said, a little more evenly than before. “We’re gonna crash here and then hit the road again tomorrow night. It’s safer to move when the sun’s down.”

“What’s in the house?” Castiel asked suspiciously.

Dean’s face pinched in confusion. “Uh, food, beer, coupla old books, TV, a mess. The usual bachelor setup,” he joked.

Castiel could not decipher the meaning of his words, but he appeared to be offering food and shelter. He still didn’t trust him though. It was too easy. It must be a ploy. Dean just wanted him to walk into that house so he wouldn’t have to drag him in.

“What do you want with me?” Castiel asked instead.

Dean sighed. “Right now, I want you to get your ass inside so I can take a fucking nap without you getting yourself into trouble. I’ve been up for almost two days now, and I’ve got jack shit to show for it. So, it would be nice if you would get out of the truck so I can clean it and hit the hay.”

Certainly, he meant to kill him, or worse. “Prove that I will be safe,” Castiel challenged.

Dean threw his hands up even farther. “Oh, for the love of…” He dropped to one knee to pull his demon knife out of its holster. He stood back up and tossed the blade into the truck bed before stepping back, his hands once again held up in surrender.

Castiel watched him closely and snatched up the blade. He held it out in front of himself and stood, peering over the edge of the truck. It wasn’t too high so he jumped, and landed hard on his feet. To his surprise, he crumpled to the ground with a cry. His legs had gone numb from the cold and rain, so he hadn’t noticed the many scrapes and scratches along his legs, or the large bruise on his ankle that had made his knees buckle.

“Jesus, are you alright?” Dean reached out to help Castiel up, but Castiel slashed at his arm wildly, cutting Dean deep. 

Cas stared in morbid fascination at the blood slowly began to soak through Dean’s shirtsleeve. Dean jumped back and gripped the wound on his upper arm, cursing under his breath. 

Castiel, for lack of a better idea, stood and told Dean, “I would like to go inside now.”

Dean shot him a glare that made his skin prickle. Dean muttered under his breath as he led the way out of the garage and into the small house. “Now he wants to fucking go inside,” Castiel managed to catch.

When they got inside Dean yelled, “Bobby! Gonna need some stitches!”

He turned to look back at Cas and did a double take. “Angel might need some too,” he said without taking his eyes off Cas. 

Cas looked down at himself and saw with a start that the front of his clothes had been stained pink with blood. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled it down enough to reveal the angry red wound Dean had put there earlier. He looked up at Dean with wide eyes and said, “An eye for an eye.”

Dean snorted. Bobby walked in with a first aid kit and a gun trained at Castiel. “Dean, what happened?” he asked, eyeing Castiel warily.

“Put the gun down, Bobby. It was my fault, besides, I think we should get him patched up first before he bleeds out on your rug.”

Bobby caught sight of Castiel’s chest and tucked the gun into a holster at his side, slamming down the kit and digging out what he needed, all while muttering to himself. Castiel had the odd sensation that this kind of thing happened fairly often when Dean sat him down and Bobby threaded the needle with ease. 

Dean pulled off his belt and folded it, handing it to Castiel. Castiel looked at him quizzically. 

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch,” Dean said by way of explanation. “Just bite down on it and think happy thoughts,” he said with a grin that was more grimace.

Castiel eyed the dirty belt and turned his head aside. Dean shrugged and threw it down on the table. “Suit yourself,” he said.

Castiel looked straight ahead and simply said, “Do it.”

He winced slightly when the needle entered his skin the first time, but, besides the odd grunt, he seemed to take the pain well. Dean was impressed. There weren’t many people that could keep it together through something like this the first time around.

When Bobby snipped off the thread, Castiel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chest heaved slightly as he breathed. Looking down at his chest, he touched the neat row of stitches and then wiped off the blood on his pants.

“Hey, you’re not done yet,” Dean warned him. Castiel looked up to see Bobby dabbing at his stitches with a wet rag. He hissed at the sting and watched in amazement as the wound began to bubble. 

He grabbed Bobby’s arm and asked, slightly panicked, “What did you do to me?”

Dean grabbed his hand and pried it off of Bobby. “Calm down, man. It’s just hydrogen peroxide. It’s to make sure it doesn’t get infected. You’re fine.”

Castiel hesitated as the bubbling subsided, but he allowed Dean to take his hand away from Bobby and drop it at his side. He watched curiously as Dean went through the same procedure after rolling up his flannel sleeve. He screwed up his face in pain, but he only grunted once, when Bobby poured the hydrogen peroxide on his arm. Dean’s arm bubbled too. 

After they were done Dean flopped back on the couch. “Can’t do cleanup, Bobby. I’ve got a doctor’s note,” he said with a grin.

“Like hell you do,” he shot back, but threw a small bottle full of pills at Dean and told him there was food in the fridge before walking out to the garage to drag the rest of their things inside.

Castiel followed Dean to the kitchen and stood back at the archway as he watched Dean rummage through the fridge. Dean clucked his tongue at the sorry state of the fridge and asked Castiel, “What’re you in the mood for, Chinese or Italian?” Castiel took too long to answer, so Dean pulled them both out. “Whatever you don’t like, I’ll eat,” he told Castiel simply. Castiel was a bit relieved he didn’t have to ask for an explanation.

Castiel watched with fascination as Dean dumped the food from both boxes out onto a plate and then placed it in a humming box that heated the food in minutes. Castiel looked from Dean and back to the plate of food as he placed it on the table. Castiel could clearly see steam rising from the plate, but only a moment ago, it had been in a refrigerator, which was cold.

“How did you do that?” Castiel asked, pointing to the food in wonder.

Dean made a face at him. “Do what? The microwave?” he asked, gesturing back to the box.

Castiel nodded. Dean laughed and opened a drawer, pulling out two forks and handing one to Castiel.

“It’s not magic. I think it’s radiation or some shit. Sammy would know. Sure beats waiting around for the stove to heat up, though.” He poured a glass of water for Castiel and cracked open a beer for himself. He sat Castiel down at the table, so that he wasn’t hovering awkwardly.

“Bon appetite,” Dean said before digging in. 

Castiel waited until Dean had chewed and swallowed his first bite before he tried stabbing the breaded chicken covered in red sauce. He found that he liked alfredo, and didn’t particularly care for bell peppers. The small orange pills Dean had given him made his aches and pains retreat.

That night Castiel laid down on an old, worn couch that was far comfier than his own bed, and with his stomach fuller than he ever remembered it being. 

Castiel waited until he was sure Bobby and Dean were both asleep before he grabbed his coat and slipped out the door. He wasn’t going to wait around until Dean and Bobby revealed their master plan, and he still had to go back for Anna. He tucked the ends of his wings into his socks and shrugged his shoulders back, tying the trench coat so that his wings appeared to be a hump under the coat. Standing up, he took one last look at the odd house behind him. This was for the best. After all, they were still humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angel of the day is the Shoebill Stork. This bird is know for it's bizarre looks and quite frankly, I wouldn't want to find it hiding in my bathroom in the middle of the night. Real nightmare material.  
>   
> The headmaster of Lorde's Institute for Angels, and the source of Castiel's nightmares. I thought a terrifying bird should fit a terrifying man. There have actually been several headmasters and headmistresses at the Institute since Castiel was first brought there, but most of those simply won't be as important as Headmaster Zachariah.


	4. American Kestrel

Dean woke up halfway through the day with a sunbeam on his face and a full bladder. He got up and made his way to the bathroom, squinting in the bright daylight and regretting that beer he had drunk before passing out on the other couch. Dean walked past the window and turned away from it, his eyes still not used to the bright sunlight leaking through the blinds. He might as well just stop fighting it and stay nocturnal. Most of his hunts ended up being at some ungodly hour anyways.

It took him a lot longer than he’d be willing to admit to realize just what was off. The angel was gone.

Dean ran out of the house, looking around frantically for any sign of Cas, but he was long gone. Dean went back inside and felt the couch, but it was cold. Cas had left a while ago. Cas had probably waited until he and Bobby had fallen asleep before running. 

Dean cursed and started digging around in the duffle for his fake IDs and a few small weapons. The last thing he needed to deal with right now was a rogue angel flapping around downtown in broad daylight. He was probably going to get himself killed at this rate, or worse.

Dean slammed a magazine into his pistol and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. He didn’t even bother trying to wake up Bobby, but he did grab the cell phone he was using before he left. That way Bobby wouldn’t have to wait until he got back to give him an earful. 

“Goddamn angel,” Dean muttered. He got into the impala and slammed the door shut. “Like tryin’a help a bird. Just runs away and shits on your stuff.” The engine roared to life and Dean turned out of the lot. His phone was already buzzing in his pocket.

He pulled it out and held it away from his ear until Bobby was done yelling at him for leaving with an angel in broad daylight.

“Cas was gone when I woke up. I’m just gonna look around and see if I can find him before someone else does,” Dean said.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find. He sticks out like a sore thumb,” Bobby said.

Dean snorted. “D’ you think it’s the wings or because he looks half dead?”

“Just find him. He don’t know what’s out there,” Bobby said solemnly.

“I know, Bobby.”

“And next time tell me before you run off on your own! What side of town are you on?” Bobby asked.

“I went north. Figured he’d head away from people,” Dean said while scanning the roadside. 

Bobby grunted. “I’ll take the south then. Tell me as soon as you find ‘im.”

“Thanks Bobby. I owe you.”

“Damn right you do.” Bobby hung up with a click and Dean threw the cell phone into the passenger’s seat. 

He’d been driving around the maze of abandoned lots and run down houses for a good half hour when the strangest thing happened. A duck up and landed on the hood of his car. Dean looked at it. The duck looked back at him.

“You crap on my baby and I’ll kill you,” Dean threated it. It seemed nonplussed and simply continued to stare at him as he crawled down the road, afraid of moving too fast and hurting it.

He tried shouting at it, banging on the glass and stopping quickly, but it just sat there. Dean groaned and pulled over to the side of the road so he could get out and forcibly remove this fucking duck. When he got out the duck hopped down off the car and waddled over to him. Dean put his hands on his hips and looked down at it. 

“Couldn’t do that before I got out?” he asked it sarcastically.

The duck tilted its head and nipped at his shoelace.

Dean shook it off gently. “Hey, I’m busy. Go attack somebody else.” When he tried to get back into the car the duck flew back on the hood. Dean sat in the impala with one leg still outside and looked straight at the duck. “You fucking asshole.”

He jumped out and tried to grab the duck, but it hopped away. He reached down for it and chased the duck across the road and into a sunflower field. The duck disappeared inside and Dean was about to leave it at that when he spotted a long black feather on the ground, just underneath the sunflowers.

Dean picked it up and looked at it. It was messy, unkempt, and definitely long enough to be an angel’s. Dean pulled out his gun and stepped into the sunflower field, pocketing the feather. He disappeared into the maze of flowers, and soon the road was gone. He listened carefully, but couldn’t hear another soul out here, just the rustling of leaves and birds chirping. He couldn’t risk calling out for Cas, and he wasn’t even sure that Cas would want to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a little short, but shit goes down in the next chapter and I couldn't find a better stopping point.
> 
> Since there's no new angels this chapter I'll do Mary, since she isn't going to be in this story except in memory.  
> 
> 
> For Mary the American Kestrel. This is a bird of prey, just like Sammy's is. It is also the smallest falcon. However, size is not a measure of skill, patience, or ferocity. Kestrels are known for being precise and skilled hunters, and for their unique ability to fly as through hovering. which allows them to search for prey.


	5. Rubber Duck

There was a sudden rustling behind him. Dean whipped around, training his gun on thin air.

“Quack.”

Dean looked down. The fucking duck was back. It waddled up and tugged at his shoelace again before running off. Dean hesitated. Eh, why the hell not. He followed the duck as it weaved around giant sunflower stalks with some difficulty. Dean glanced around, trying to keep the sun to his left so he could find the road again, but when he looked back, the duck was gone again. Never trust a duck.

He heard the stiff rustle of wings too big to be a bird. He took back badmouthing the duck. He moved slowly in the direction the rustling had come from. The flowers in front of him were too thick to see anything through. Dean tried to breath shallow, quiet breaths and slowly pulled the stems aside with the barrel of his gun. 

Something leaped out at him, snarling and pushing him to the ground. The gun was knocked out of his hand, and his head hit the dirt hard. Dean grunted in pain and grabbed blindly at his attacker, catching a broken piece of wood right before it pierced his eye. He grabbed the makeshift stake with his other hand as well and wrenched it out of his attacker’s grasp. He could feel the splinters digging into his palms.

“Dean?”

Dean paused, wooden stake poised to strike his attacker’s jugular.

It was Castiel. “You?” Dean almost shouted in surprise. “What the hell, Cas!”

Castiel scrambled over him and lunged for the gun Dean had dropped. He pointed it at Dean with shaking arms.

“Put it down,” Castiel demanded.

Dean sat up slowly and put the piece of wood on the ground before raising his hands above his head. Castiel got to his feet, gun never leaving Dean.

“How did you find me?”

“I got lucky. Found a feather while I was driving,” Dean said calmly, eyes all but as he watched the shaking finger Castiel had put on the trigger.

“Get up.”

Dean did so slowly, hands in sight at all times.

“Did you bring the other one with you?” Castiel asked cautiously.

Dean shook his head slightly. “He’s on the other side of town, looking for you,” Dean said pointedly.

Castiel frowned. “Take me to your car or I’ll shoot you.”

“Okay, okay. Easy does it Cas. It’s this way.” Dean jerked his head the way he had come. 

It was obvious from the way Castiel held himself that he had never handled a gun before. Just touching it seemed to scare him. But a gun in the hands of the fearful tended to make them trigger happy. Dean watched Castiel’s shadow as he followed Dean through the sea of flowers. Castiel was obviously out of his element. He didn’t know the first thing about fighting.

As soon as Dean saw the shadow look away he dropped to the ground and swept Castiel’s feet from under him. He turned and lunged at the dazed man, wrenching the unfired gun from his hand and immediately put the safety on before tucking it back in his waistband.

Castiel scrambled backward, but the flower stalks stopped him from running. 

Dean crouched down and offered Castiel his hand. “Look, man. I don’t know what you’re tryin’a pull here, but shooting a gun is just going to attract people. In case you haven’t noticed people’s exactly what you don’t want. You’re scared, I get that, but I still need you to think, Cas. If you’re stupid, you get caught. That’s how it goes.” Dean leaned slightly closer, hand outstretched. “I just want to help, alright?”

Castiel eyed him distrustfully and stood on his own. “Prove it.”

Dean chuckled. “You gonna stab me again?”

“No. I need you to take me back to the forest. Back where you found me,” Castiel said.

“Are you crazy?” Dean hissed. “That place is swarming with people. And they’re all looking for you,” Dean told him as he jabbed Castiel in the chest with his finger. “There is no way in hell I’m taking you back there.”

“Fine, then which way is it? I’ll go by myself.”

Dean groaned and rubbed his temples. Castiel crossed his arms and stood his ground, defiant. 

Dean took a deep breath and gave in. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s so important that you have to go back.”

 

For a long while Castiel didn’t respond. “I left… something.”

“Uh huh. Gotta give me a little more than that Cas.”

“There, there’s a girl. She’s still hiding in the woods. I hid her and lured the dogs away.” He uncrossed his arms and stood awkwardly before Dean, feeling all too vulnerable.

Dean sucked his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but she’s been there since, what? Last night?” he reminded Cas. “She’s probably already been found, especially if she’s an angel.”

Castiel just stared. It was a little creepy how little he blinked.

Dean sighed. “Okay,” he said, coming to a decision, or maybe just giving in. “Let’s go find her.” With that he turned on his heel and kept walking, leaving Castiel to run to catch up.

“You’ll take me back to the woods?” Castiel asked in confusion.

Dean just laughed dryly. “You’re already hell bent on getting there, and you know what they say. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Let’s go save your lady friend.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but got in the back of the impala and laid down so that he wouldn’t be seen. Dean started the car. Castiel was half sure Dean would just take him back to the place they had been earlier. Actually, he was expecting it. He was surprised when he started to see trees through the window, reaching for the sky.

“You’re actually taking me back?” he asked in mild disbelief.

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this was going to be wayyyyyy to long if I kept going, so I stopped this chapter right before the action. No new angels, so here's a picture of a rubber duck.
> 
> Shit happens next chapter, I swear.


	6. Cooper's Hawk

Dean had to help Cas out of the car. He’d gotten his wings stuck at an odd angle and couldn’t get himself out. 

“This… does not look familiar,” Cas said warily.

Dean pulled a shotgun out of the trunk and loaded it with a snap. “After last night, they’ll be all over that barn. Best bet is to keep away from it and hope that means we can sneak by the rest of ‘em.”

Castiel nodded in understanding.

“Think you can handle a gun?” Dean asked, tossing Castiel a small handgun, thankfully unloaded. They both watched the gun as it arced through the air and fell to Castiel’s feet without him lifting a finger.

“Why did you throw your weapon?” Castiel asked.

Dean sighed and bumped his forehead against the frame of the trunk. “Never mind. Just, stay low and see if anything looks familiar.”

Castiel watched curiously as Dean picked up a handful of rocks and dumped them into what looked like a handkerchief. The only reason Cas even knew what that was, was because the last Headmaster always carried one to cover his sickly coughing. 

Dean pulled his t-shirt over his nose and mouth before pulling out a bottle of what looked like perfume. He put the handkerchief on the ground and spritzed the bottle twice over the rocks. He bundled the rocks up and shoved the whole thing in his pocket before pulling his shirt back down.

“What was the purpose of that?”

Dean glanced at him before handing him a long knife. “Just a precaution. Since you managed to stab me last time, I think you’re better off with a knife than a gun.”

Castiel took the offered weapon and held it tightly in his fist. Dean laughed at him. “You’ve got the whole Psycho thing going on.”

Castiel stared at him blankly.

“You know,” Dean made stabbing gestures, “REE REE REE. Hitchcock?”

Castiel still hadn’t blinked. 

Dean put his hands on his hips. “Right. Movie night if we’re still alive after all this.” He turned back to the truck.

It didn’t take too much longer to get ready. There were only two of them after all. Dean put his phone on silent and threw a greenish camouflage patterned tarp over his Impala. Then they were off. Dean took the lead, heading vaguely in the direction he believed Cas had been fleeing from. Amazingly enough Cas was pretty light on his feet. Dean had to keep checking behind him to make sure he hadn’t gotten left behind.

“Anything looking familiar?” Dean whispered.

“I am unsure. I need to be higher,” Cas whispered back, opening his wings.

Dean yanked him down just as a patrol followed a couple of bloodhounds into the area.

“Hey, I think they found something!” shouted one of the men.

Castiel’s wings instinctively snapped tight against his back. Dean cursed under his breath. Castiel was ready to make a run for it again when Dean pulled out the bundle of rocks. He quickly snuck a glance at their pursuers and tossed a couple rocks away from where they were hiding.

The dogs began barking in a flurry of excitement. Cas was ready to run, but Dean grabbed his collar and shoved him down against the ground. Cas tried not to breathe in dirt as he listened to the dogs get bored and wander off. One of the guards complained, “Stupid mutt. False alarm, it was probably just a squirrel or something.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief and Castiel threw Dean off of him, bodily, wiping mud off his face. 

“Hey, watch it!” Dean hissed in a whisper.

“You were attempting to suffocate me,” Castiel accused. 

“At least I got them to go away,” Dean argued back.

Castiel glared at him, but behind Dean he could see a very familiar clearing. He pushed Dean aside and went to investigate.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Dean hissed angrily.

In answer, Castiel picked a long, black feather off a broken branch and held it up for Dean to see. They were close.

“This is where I… fell.”

Dean looked up at the carnage of broken branches and winced. “Long way to fall.”

“If the barn is that way,” Cas pointed behind him, “Then I must have come from this way.” He started walking, knife clenched in his white knuckled fist as Dean followed behind him.

“How do you know she’s still there?” Dean asked. “Maybe she made a run for it and got away.”

Castiel shook his head sadly. “It is not likely.”

“Was she hurt?” Dean asked.

“She was,” Castiel struggled for the right word, “unwell.”

Dean didn’t push. Miraculously, they made it to an area Cas recognized. It was close to the institute, so they practically had to crawl. Unfortunately, even Dean knew when they had made it.

The ground was torn to shreds. Feathers and dried blood coated the ground, even after the rain had tried to wash it all away. Castiel was vaguely aware of Dean’s hand on his shoulder.

“Cas,” Dean said.

Something rustled up ahead. Before Dean could move, the force of Castiel’s wings snapping open and propelling him forward like a bullet shoved him back on his ass.

“Shit,” Dean swore and scrambled to his feet. Gun at the ready, he ran after Cas and hoped the screams wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Castiel had a knife buried in a woman’s shoulder. She was screaming and scrabbling for her gun, which had been kicked out of her reach. Dean tried to pull Castiel off of her, but he kicked at Dean wildly, eyes feral and blood coating his face.

The sound of howling snapped him out of it. Dean hit the woman with the butt of his shotgun and pulled Cas along as he ran. He’d feel sorry for her later. 

The howling was getting closer. They could hear shouting now, from up ahead and coming up behind them. They were surrounded. 

Dean skidded to a stop and grabbed Cas by the shoulder. “Fly, now.”

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice. He ran, opening his wings and dragging himself into the air as he approached the same clearing that he’d escaped from just last night. Dean dropped the bag of rocks and climbed the nearest tree, hauling himself up with a strength born of panic and fear. He was going to get caught so that Castiel could escape. Castiel had never met a stupider person. Or perhaps a braver one.

He dived back down and snatched Dean off the tree he was hanging from, just as a group of uniformed people burst into the clearing, following the dogs who were madly chasing after them from below.

“Let go! What are you doing?” Dean yelled at him.

Cas gritted his teeth and flapped his wings as hard as he could. It was hard enough getting himself in the air, but carrying someone else with him, especially when he was already hurt, was nigh impossible.

“Just drop me, damnit! Oh god! Put me down!”

Castiel ignored him as they climbed impossibly higher, branches raked against his wings as they reached the tops of the trees. Dean kept struggling. He had no intention of making this easy, did he?

As soon as Castiel was high enough to see the burned wreckage of the barn, he turned in the direction of the impala and tucked his wings in. Dean started screaming as they barreled towards the ground, like a shrieking missile. Below, someone gave the order to open fire. Castiel gasped and closed his eyes as a bullet struck his back, too close to his wings. 

He spread them as best he could, but his left wing just wasn’t working with him this time. It stayed folded, locked against his body. They ended up in a mad spiral towards the ground. He had to drop Dean, who had the good sense to roll as he hit the ground.

Cas wasn’t so lucky. He landed hard, hard enough for his vision to swim as he lost his lunch. He didn’t have time for this. He struggled to his feet and Dean half carried, half dragged him all the way to the car. Dean only stopped long enough to stuff the tarp into the passenger’s seat before unceremoniously shoving Cas in the back and flooring it. Cas just hoped he’d bought them enough time to make a clean getaway.

He struggled to breathe in his cramped position in the back seat. He was planted facedown, sweaty cheek against the cool leather. His wings stuck up at odd angles behind him. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the wave of pain that hit him every time the car hit a bump or a turn.

Dean got out his phone. The person on the other end was already yelling. Dean tried to talk over them. “Yeah! No! Bobby! I’ve got him!”

Ah, it was the other man.

“No, look, change of plans. I’m taking him back with me. We need to lay low for a while. Yeah, I know. I’ll figure it out later. I waited this long. What’s another couple of months?”

Castiel felt his breath becoming ragged. He listened to the sound of Dean’s voice without really understanding it. His head felt like somebody had shoved cotton inside, like his thoughts had been replaced with static.

He opened his eyes when he heard his name.

“Cas? Come on, buddy. Cas, don’t go to sleep on me just yet.”

Castiel groaned. “What is wrong with you?” he asked Dean.

Dean chuckled. “I’ve got a list.”

“You were going to stay. They were going to kill you.”

“Hey, you don’t know that. I’ve been in worse situations before. Usually against things with more teeth, though.”

“Why? Why do all this for an angel?” Castiel asked. Maybe his pain was making him bold.

Dean was quiet. Cas thought that maybe he’d pressed too hard, too deep.

“My brother.”

Castiel watched Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he drove.

“My dad’s one of those people that does what he wants. Says fuck everybody else, you know? Well, he fell in love with my mom, didn’t care that she was an angel. Just loved her.”

Castiel’s brow creased in confusion. “You?”

Dean laughed, “Yeah the neighbors raised some kind of hell. Especially when Sammy was born. Mom died when he was little. He doesn’t really remember her like I do. And dad, well he hasn’t been the same since we lost her. I ended up taking care of Sammy most of the time. Guess I still do.”

“But you don’t have wings.”

Dean shrugged.

“You could have a life, a real one.”

Dean bristled. “I’m not gonna just up and leave Sammy. He’s been through enough hell. Besides, we’re Winchesters. We look out for each other.”

“Your brother is very lucky to have you.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. Cas didn’t blink. Dean looked away. “Yeah, well maybe you can tell him that for me. I’d like to see the look on his face.”

“What would he look like?” Castiel asked in genuine curiosity. 

“I dunno, funny? I’m his brother, so we’re always ragging on each other. It’s what brothers do,” Dean said by way of explanation.

“I have never known my blood relations. Anna is… was the only one I truly cared for.”

“Was she the one in the woods,” Dean asked.

Castiel didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, about Anna,” Dean said quietly, watching Cas in the mirror again. “I can’t imagine loosing Sammy.”

“I only pray that she is dead,” Cas said, his voice hard. 

Their eyes met in the mirror again, but neither said anything.

Dean turned on the radio and Castiel tried to watch the clouds as his vision danced with spots on and off again. 

Dean broke the silence. “Sammy’s gonna be excited to meet you. He doesn’t get to be around other angels a lot.”

Castiel was confused. “Where are you taking me?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Dean saw Cas’s face in the mirror and backtracked. “It’s a joke, Cas. Calm down. I just meant it’s better if you don’t know.”

“That does little to ease my worry,” Cas deadpanned.

Dean chuckled. “It’s nicer than you’d think. Me and Sammy basically live there now. We call it the bunker. It was made with angels in mind so there’s plenty of room to stretch your wings. After that whole mess over at Lorde’s, I figured it’d be best to lay low for a while. That, and I don’t know how bad you’re hurt.”

“I have yet to lose consciousness, which I can only assume is a good sign.”

Dean laughed. “Always looking at the positives, huh, Cas? You know, Sammy’s real smart. He’s always reading something from the library in the bunker. He’ll be able to patch you up better than I can. Course that might just be because he’s always the one fixing me.”

“He sounds like a kind soul,” Cas said, feeling sleepy.

“Yeah, he’s taller than me, but when he makes that puppy dog face, your heart’ll just melt. He’s a bit of a lady killer. Taught him everything he knows,” Dean said proudly.

“Lady killer?” Cas asked with some alarm. 

“Yeah, you know,” Dean said before glancing at Cas in the mirror. “Oh, no. No, he doesn’t murder them. He’s just good at flirting. With women. Not killing them.”

Castiel nodded in understanding and closed his eyes.

Dean watched his breathing slow. “Did you not get cable in that hell hole you were living in?” he asked, just to make sure Cas wasn’t dead yet.

Castiel blinked slowly. “I do not understand the question.”

“Uh, TV. Television. Cable. Satellite. Movies? Computers? Anything?”

“We did have computers, but those were strictly for the archivists and translators. They only possessed relevant data.”

“This is gonna hurt until we can get you caught up with pop culture.”

“Will it hurt you or me?” Cas mumbled before succumbing to sleep.

“Probably me more than you. Maybe Sammy can help you out. You guys can have angel bonding time, or something. How bout that, Cas?”

Cas didn’t respond. Dean glanced in the mirror.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath and stepped on the gas. Hopefully there weren’t any cops around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you, AW5, since Sam's in the next chapter. Sam has the wings of a Cooper's Hawk.  
> 
> 
> Hawks are observers, thought to have a strong spiritual awareness. Obviously much larger than the Kestrel, these birds of prey are one of the world's most skillful fliers. Their methods of killing prey seem a bit brutal, as they tend to strangle their kills rather than biting them like other birds of prey. They have even been known to drown their prey. The bird is more frequently found in suburbs than in the wild, mush like Sam, who's more comfortable hiding in plain sight than avoiding people altogether. Also look at those wings, goddamn that's a pretty bird.


	7. Birdbath

Dean finally got his first really good look at Cas’s wings in the dim light of the hallway shining into the kitchen. He had to do a double take. His black wings were matted and dull, mussed out of sorts and full of flecks of oddities like leaves, lint, and the odd piece of wrapper. It was as though he was wearing a giant feather duster over his back, his wings were so poorly kept. It tugged at something in Dean’s gut and he winced in sympathy. Wings only got like that when there was no one to help fix them. He knew that from experience.

Dean pulled a stool away from the counter and placed it in the center of the kitchen. “C’mere. When was the last time you preened?” Dean joked, standing in front of the stool.

Cas stiffened, hesitating between moving towards the chair and running full tilt away from Dean. Maybe he would never lose his skittishness around others. Dean’s whole body seemed to roll with his eyes.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Dean said. “You almost died for me out there. This is the least I can do to return the favor.”

Cas was reluctant to move, but the offer was too tempting to pass up. His wings were a constant dull, aching presence, and the opportunity to fix them was a welcome change. He sat down and took a deep breath, slowly allowing his wings to open, full and calm, for the first time in weeks. He gritted his teeth in pain. Perhaps his wings were worse off than he had thought. No wonder Dean wanted to help him. Anyone would pity him in this condition.

Dean watched Cas struggle to open his wings on his own, his back twinged visibly under his trench coat. Cas tried to reach behind him to undo the Velcro above his wings. Dean batted his hands away and peeled the coat off Cas slowly, carefully avoiding the black wings as he helped Cas shrug off his sleeves, letting the tan coat drop to the floor. Dean swept an eye over the disgusting, grimy, sweat stained dress shirt Cas was wearing as Cas undid his tie and let it too drop to the floor. 

“How attached to this shirt are you?” Dean asked, picking at a tear in the fabric on his shoulder.

Cas looked down at it, frowning at it as though it had disappointed him. “It is the only one I own,” he said in a quiet voice.

Dean’s hand rested on Cas’s shoulder, a small comfort. “I can fix that,” Dean told him. “I’ll go shopping first thing tomorrow. I’ll get the stuffiest shirts I can find, just for you,” Dean teased.

Cas’s frown deepened. “I do not want any favors.”

Dean made a noise of frustration. Cas was just as bad as a three-year-old, determined to do everything himself or fail trying. He had the grumpy face of one, anyways. 

“Look, normally I’d say you can go around buck nude for all I care, but I have to live with you, so for the time being you’re going to shut up and let me get you some clothes until you can go and get your own. Besides, you’re going to need more than a new shirt,” Dean said looking at the rest of Cas’s clothing.

Cas did the same. His clothes were in shambles. He was missing most of his buttons so that his shirt clung to his frame as if it had stuck to his skin with grime. His pants were torn and streaked with what was probably mud. He hoped it was mud. His socks were no longer white and his nice black dress shoes were scuffed and ripped beyond repair. He could only imagine what the rest of him looked like.

Cas finally made a reluctant noise of agreement and finished unbuttoning the few buttons left on his shirt. Dean pulled out his pocket knife and carefully cut around Cas’s wings. This shirt had been modified to fit his wings, just like his coat. The bottom half of the back of his shirt had hooked together like a really long bra, Dean thought automatically. He shooed it out of his head and cut the top half up past the collar. He could feel Cas tense under his fingers as the cool metal of the knife touched skin. For such a paranoid guy, he was being oddly trusting.

Cas slid his shirt off slowly and painfully, gasping in pain when he tugged the fabric too fast. Dean hurried to peel the ruined shirt off a bullet wound that looked fairly new. The shirt had stuck to the dried blood just to the left of Cas’s left wing. 

Cas hissed as it came free and the wound started bleeding again. 

“Shit,” said Dean in sympathy. “Lemme get the kit.” He rummaged around the cupboards for the first aid kit and a washcloth. He soaked it in cold water in the sink and wrung it out again. When he touched the cold cloth to Cas’s back he let out a small sigh. The cold felt good against the angry red gash in his back. He closed his eyes, resting his hands in his lap and still sitting ramrod straight. Maybe there really was something up his ass, Dean thought.

Getting the bullet out was easy enough. Luckily, it hadn’t gone in too far, or hit anything important. He cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged the wound without another sound out of Cas. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant more than three stitches, luckily. When he was done, he put the kit and the washcloth down next to the pile of dirty clothes and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Okay, go ahead and open your wings. I’ll start on the right side so your back can stop bleeding before I get to your left,” Dean said.

He did so, with agonizing slowness. He hadn’t stretched his wings in far too long, aside from the occasional life or death situation. He regretted it already, but what else could he have done? It wasn’t as though the life of a fugitive was one of comfort. Then again it wasn’t as though he had chosen this. But it was no use agonizing over what ifs and the like. He was where he was, and it was high time he started accepting it. Losing everything.

Dean ran his hands smoothly over the ridge of Cas’s wings. Cas gasped in surprise and his wings snapped open with little difficulty. The initial pain soon ebbed, replaced with an aching relief as his wings stretched to their full length. Cas rolled his neck and flexed his wings, the tips shivering comfortably at the welcome strain. 

Dean smiled as Cas rediscovered the relief of stretching his wings again. It reminded him of Sam, who was always more than ready to throw off his disguise and let his giant wings fill the room. He always stretched so far that his feathers trembled when he first opened his wings again. The look of blissful relief was why he always had a strict open wing policy in the bunker, even if it meant Sam’s enormous wings were constantly knocking things over, shedding feathers, and hitting Dean. The last one may be on purpose, actually, and Sam just did it because he knew he could get away with it. Asshole.

Dean waited until Cas settled down, and then went to work, straightening and smoothing feather by feather across Cas’s right wing. Cas let his eyes flutter shut again in the comfortable silence, the feeling of someone preening his wings relaxing him enough to let him slouch slightly on his seat. Bits of leaves, twigs, seeds, strings and the odd gum wrapper fell to the floor as Dean’s careful fingers sifted through the feathers one by one. He began to see the slight blue iridescent shine in some of the larger feathers. As he ran his fingers along their edges, letting each fiber fall back into its rightful place. 

Sam had once told Dean that preening was a lot like how a deep tissue massage felt, utterly relaxing. It was one of those comforts in life like a warm bath after a long day or a plush bed after a long trip. Try as he might, Dean just couldn’t imagine quite what it would feel like.

Dean moved to Cas’s left wing, trying to move quickly to put less strain on the wing. He knew it would hurt to hold up his wing with that wound for very long. Cas didn’t say a word. Didn’t complain, didn’t move. Dean would have thought he were dead if not for the steady rise and fall of his breathing. 

At one point Cas’s whole wing twitched away from Dean’s hands. He quickly moved his wing back into position as though nothing had happened, but Dean didn’t continue. 

“Hang on,” said Dean as he got up and rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen, returning with a flashlight. He got back and leaned in close to the spot he had touched either. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” Dean said. He carefully slipped his fingers under the layer of feathers above the ones he had touched earlier. 

His fingers pressed gently against the shaft of each feather, stopping when Cas flinched and said, “There.”

Dean lifted the feathers above the shaft gently and shone the light in between the dark feathers. The skin of Cas’s wings was pale, a stark contrast to his dark feathers. The skin around this shaft however, was a sickly yellow surrounded by a swollen red. The root of the feather was clearly infected, puss engorging the infected area. The feather responsible was bent at an awkward angle, obviously growing oddly. Dean checked the other feathers nearby, but only found the one.

“This feather is infected. I should pluck it and drain the cavity so it doesn’t get worse,” Dean told him.

Cas gritted his teeth. “Do it,” he said decisively.

“Do you want me to count to three?” he asked, grabbing the feather firmly between his first finger and his thumb. 

“N- Ah,” Cas grunted as Dean yanked the feather out without hesitation or warning. “What happened to counting?” Cas asked, a twinge of betrayal in his voice.

Dean grinned just out of Cas’s line of sight. “Sorry. It’s like ripping off a band aid; easier when you’re not expecting it.”

“I’ll remember that,” Cas said ominously.

Dean just laughed it off, glad that Cas still had a sense of humor. He was beginning to think Cas was becoming a robot with skin and blood. He hadn’t smiled since the woods outside of Lorde. That, and he had the worst case of resting bitch face Dean had ever seen.

Dean picked up the bloodied washcloth again and dabbed at the pus and blood oozing out of the infected pore. He carefully pressed the skin around the swollen area, draining the pore as well as he could. Dean dug Sam’s wing ointment out of the first aid kit and smeared it over the infected area.

“Try to keep that patch dry and clean for a while, until the feather starts to bud again, and you should be fine,” Dean told him, wiping his hands off on the corner of the rag before throwing back on the floor on top of the pile of ruined clothes.

Cas gave his wings an experimental flap, surprised at the result. “You know a lot about wings for someone without them,” Cas remarked.

Dean went back to preening Cas’s wings. “Yeah, well I’ve been watching out for Sammy since he was a baby. When I was really little I would go to the library and read everything I could get my grubby little hands on about wings. I would lie to the librarians and tell them I wanted to be a bird vet when I grew up. They ate it up and gave me everything I could ever need. One of them, Miss Vicky, she saw my old man chew me out and drag my sorry ass back home after I stayed too late one time. She took pity on me and introduced me to the wonderful world of library cards,” Dean chuckled lightly. “That was one of the happiest days of my life. I could take back picture books for Sam and compare my medical books to Sam’s wings. That was my biggest fear when I was six, that Sam would break a wing and I wouldn’t know how to fix it. Legs and fingers and noses I could do, but wings,” Dean shrugged. “It was a mystery. My dad wasn’t much better. He knew a few back-alley doctors, but that was about it. We didn’t have the connections or the money if Sam ever got into serious trouble. It’s not like we could just take him to any old doctor either if he got a fever or something. With the way we were living, they would have taken Sammy away from us in a heartbeat,” Dean finished bitterly.

“I thought you said your brother was the one who was more knowledgeable,” Cas remembered.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well he grew up and got smarter than I ever was. Hell, he could set his own wing now.”

Cas started at the back of his eyelids. “Did you ever consider…?” he asked. 

“Consider what?” asked Dean.

“Giving him up,” he replied. “For a better life.”

Dean bristled, but continued preening. “You tell me. How’s the better life?”

That shut Cas up. Dean was right. He had done the best he could have for Sam, and probably kept him safer than any organization, orphanage or institution designed to “help” angels ever could. He was living proof of that. 

Cas had grown up never knowing his family. His mother died in childbirth and his father disappeared almost as soon as Cas had been old enough to vaguely recall his face. He didn’t think it was his father’s choice to leave. From what he could remember his father was a kind old man, a doting father with a greying beard and kind eyes. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember what color they were. He wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving even if it had been his choice though. An angel child was more trouble than they were worth. 

Castiel had the unique opportunity to spend the majority of his childhood in the same orphanage. Most angels were shuffled back and forth between institutions until they were old enough to escape and survive on their own, be “adopted” by some family, or become part of the system themselves. No angels were technically allowed to leave the boarding schoolesque orphanages they were housed in, even after coming of age. Adoption wasn’t quite the right word for it. More like human trafficking. Occasionally an extremely odd or rich family would actually adopt an angel, but more often than not they ended back up in the system.

These institutions were questionable at best and downright cruel at worst. Castiel had grown up in Lorde’s Institution for Winged Orphans. They had cycled through several headmasters, some of which had been angels themselves. They were often the cruelest, bitter products of the system, having been broken down over a lifetime into an altogether inhuman thing. Castiel had left for just that reason. He had wanted to escape before he had become a broken husk of a creature, like the few older angels that still lived in the institute.

The catalyst though, the last push that had shoved him headlong into a fierce determination to get away had been Anna. She had been his dearest friend as a child. The one good thing in his life. It had seemed, back then, that even the living hell they endured couldn’t crush her underfoot. She was as a sister to him and he a brother to her. It went beyond the familial religious titles they had been forced to use. It was something much more meaningful when he called her his sister. They couldn’t have looked more unlike, her with her wispy frame and long red hair and he with his dark, messy locks and angry glower. They made a perfect team though, getting into trouble together and generally wreaking havoc on their tormentors. They had just been children. They hadn’t known better. They were taught right from wrong, of how a wrathful god punished wrongdoers and how as angels they were to carry out his will and live to the letter of His word. As far as the two children were concerned, Anna had reasoned, they should be raining God’s anger upon sinners, just like their God did. The headmaster at the time saw that they were thoroughly punished for their reign of terror, but no hurt could douse their spirits. At least, that’s what they had thought. One day Castiel had awoken to find Anna had gone. No one would tell him anything. He never heard a word of or about her since. He feared the worst for her, but it wasn’t until years later that he would realize the worst was nowhere near as horrible as the truth. It always seemed to work that way.

When Anna came back she was irreparably changed, a shell of her former self. When Castiel had first seen her he wasn’t sure himself if she was even the same person. Her face was sallowed and sunken, her hair thin and two shades paler than it should have been. She even went by a new name, because they had even taken that from her. 

Cas clenched and unclenched his fists in anger. He nearly jumped off his stool when Dean’s voice broke into his quiet reflection.

“You okay? I can stop if it hurts,” Dean told him.

Cas shook his head, “No, I was just thinking. You… It feels comfortable.”

Dean nodded and went back to work, fingers deft with years of practice as he sorted through the smaller, almost downy feathers on the inside of Cas’s wings towards the base. Cas stared at Dean’s face, watching him work with careful concentration. Dean was an odd creature if he had ever met one, though he hadn’t met many. The people without wings that he had met had usually shied away, acted as though he simply didn’t exist. Others looked down on him, as though he weren’t worth their time. Others still looked upon him with awe. He disliked when the religious schools would be allowed to visit once or twice a year. They brought busses full of children and adults alike that treated him as though he were something inhuman altogether. Maybe he was, but it wasn’t because of his wings.

Dean asked, “How we doing?”

Cas made a noncommittal grunt and fell back into his musings. The last he had seen Anna she had been stumbling alongside him in the woods. He hadn’t meant to leave her, but they had been found out. They hadn’t found a body while in the woods. There was still a slight chance that she had fought back, run away, maybe even survived. Even if she had made it there was no telling whether she would be able to fend for herself. He wasn’t sure how much of her was left, if there was enough of her to keep her alive. He could imagine her curled in a ball in the woods still, bloodied and waiting for either someone to find her or fate to take its course. Of course, if they had found her, he could only hope she had died before they had the chance to bring her back. She was a previous escapee. Second time offenders were-

His train of thought came to a sudden screeching halt as he felt fingers probing into the base of his wings, stimulating the oil sacks there. He instantly became stiff as a board, sitting at a perfect ninety-degree angle. He was too stunned to move at first but a particularly invasive finger caused him to let out a long, low moan that stopped Dean in his tracks.

Cas slapped a hand over his mouth and jumped up from the stool, wings folding in around himself as he refused to turn around and face Dean. 

Dean had jumped back in surprise as well, his now oily hands held out in front of him. He cleared his throat for lack of anything else to do and asked slowly, “So, uh… that was… new.”

New? Cas thought to himself. He turned around to face Dean despite himself and asked incredulously, “You do this to your brother?”

Dean’s face was still a mask of confusion. “Yes? Should I not? It’s hard for him to reach in the back sometimes, so I do it for him.”

Cas’s face took on a new shade of red as his eyes fell to Dean’s shining hands. He turned his head slightly to avoid looking at him. “It… For some angels, it holds the same feeling as preening, for some it might be a bit uncomfortable, and for others it ah… feels… pleasurable.” Cas stared resolutely at his feet.

Dean stared owlishly at Cas’s still reddening face. “Oh,” he finally said at an octave higher than he meant, suddenly hyperaware of the sensation of oil in his hands. “Oh,” he said again, the implication of Cas’s words heavy on his mind. “I didn’t… Sorry. I just thought I was helping. I won’t do it again, I swear.”

Dean walked to the kitchen sink and Cas listened to him thoroughly washing his hands while still staring at an interesting pattern in the tile floor. He wasn’t quite sure he would be able to look at Dean in the same light again. He knew it was an innocent mistake, but still.

Dean cleared his throat again, trying to decide how to phrase his question. “So how do you, ah, you know.” Dean made some vague gestures with his hands that Cas couldn’t decipher the meaning of to save his life.

“The hard to reach places,” Dean finally said. “How do you get it by yourself.”

Cas risked a glance at Dean. Dean’s face was just as pink as his own, but he was looking at Cas with an earnest intensity. Cas realized he was probably asking for his brother, since neither of them had realized the implications of what they had been doing. 

Cas swallowed and replied, “Usually another angel does it with their own oils.”

Dean looked at him with something akin to despair. Cas slowly realized why they had been doing what they had. Sam was the only angel around and Dean had probably been helping him preen since before Sam had even grown his first flight feathers.

Dean seemed to come to a decision and steeled himself, asking Cas, “Do you think you could, I mean if you want to stick around, could you maybe teach Sammy?”

If Cas weren’t already in debt to this man his helpless expression would have melted his resolve right then and there. Dean had done the best he could to raise Sam without any references, any knowledge, relying solely on trial and error and perhaps a few inaccurate books he had snuck in the library as a child.

“It’s just that it’s hard to give him answers sometimes, since, you know, I don’t have them. And you, well, you know everything. I just think it would really help him out if you could just answer some questions and thing for him. I can pay you. It won’t be clean money, but I can get you enough to buy a ticket to New Zealand if you wanted.” Dean was growing desperate.

“Yes,” said Cas simply, interrupting what would have been a most likely heartbreaking story of Sam growing up without a parental angel figure and living the hard knock life for as long as he could remember. Cas decided Dean would have done anything for his brother in a heartbeat.

“Really?” Dean asked. 

Cas nodded. “It is the least I can do in return. Besides, I have been looking forward to meeting Sam. Goodness knows you haven’t stopped talking about him since I met you,” he teased.

Dean threw the towel he was still drying his hands with at Cas’s head and, smiling, told him to go fuck himself. 

“I’m going to go get you some new clothes while I’m out. Anything you want to eat?” Dean asked.

“Anything that isn’t crackers or made of pumpkin,” Cas said bitterly. 

“Right, Chinese takeout it is then,” Dean said grabbing a set of keys off the counter and walking out of the kitchen. He popped back in to mention, “I almost forgot. The showers are that way and any of the rooms after the first three down that hall are free, so you have your pick of rooms.”

Cas didn’t get a chance to stop Dean before he left to ask him to clarify. Cas could understand giving him a place to sleep until he left, but a whole room? He wandered down the hallway feeling particularly naked without his shirt and coat. The coat had at least looked salvageable. He knew his shirt was done for though. He scratched absentmindedly at the healing stitches on his chest, the one that Dean had given him. Dean had expressed surprise, when they first met, mostly by stabbing Cas. By some miracle, he hadn’t even harmed Cas beyond a bit of bleeding and a huge gash in his chest which amazingly had barely even stung. As it turned out a demon blade, by nature, wasn’t meant to harm an angelic being. He’d forgotten that in the heat of the moment. Dean had still apologized when he stitched up Cas’s wound, which hurt a great deal more than the knife had. Castiel was more surprised that a demon blade actually existed. The things he learned from those angelic texts back at Lorde’s were meant to be from a long dead history.

Cas found the bedrooms around the corner and he couldn’t believe his eyes. They weren’t small barracks like he had expected. Each room was sizeable, enough to hold a dresser, a walk in closet, shelving, drawers, a desk, extra room and a great big soft bed in the center with a matching bed stand. 

Cas sat down on the bed gingerly, as if he expected it to disappear from underneath him. It was soft, and the sheets carefully folded on top smelled faintly of detergent and dust. He bounced slightly, enjoying the feel of working springs beneath him. He explored the rest of the room, sifting through drawers, and turning on and off lights simply because he could. He even got up on the bed to jump on it, one of his lifelong dreams. His wings flapped violently as he tried to keep his balance, madly laughing at the sheer silliness of it all. A loose feather Dean had missed went flying and Cas watched with gleefully satisfaction as it landed on the floor and stayed there. There was no one here to tell him how to live, how to act, how to think. The freedom was giddying. He almost felt light headed. This was what Anna and he had filled their heads with as kids. Fairy tales and wild dreams about a little house with spring beds and headboards and colorful pillows stacked to the ceiling. A long table for all their imaginary friends and sweets for breakfast lunch and dinner. Never going hungry again.

He left the room to explore more of the bunker. He stayed away from the first three rooms like Dean had said. He tried the other hallway leading from the kitchen and found a large, spacious bathroom with several sinks. Towards the back was a row of shower stalls and to the left a large tub, large enough to be considered a small pond. This must be a swimming pool, Cas thought to himself. He’d heard of those from an angel who had been brought back. On the other side was the largest shower Cas had ever seen. Seats smoothly jutted out from the walls and three different adjustable shower heads dotted the wall along the high ceiling. The tan marble swirls and ambient lighting made the whole thing look beautiful. Cas couldn’t wait to try it out after he finished preening. He’d never dreamed he would have had the chance to go to a pool before. Nor had he ever seen such a spacious shower.

The rest of his exploration was like a dream, it was so surreal to wander around alone in a magical secret house with such luxuries, knowing that he was finally free from the institute. This was, he decided, what Heaven must be like, a nice home and a sense of security. Simple pleasures.

He was thumbing through a massive library when he heard the door open and close. Assuming it was Dean, back with food and clean clothes, Cas made his way back down to the kitchen to meet Dean as he came in. It occurred to him far too late that Dean was not the only person living in the bunker. 

He and Sam stared at each other in surprise, neither expecting the other. He definitely wasn’t expecting Sam to drop the grocery bags, grab him by the neck and slam him into the nearest wall. Dean hadn’t been exaggerating. In fact, he hadn’t been able to convey just how massive Sam was. He was a wall of a man. He was also strong. Cas desperately scrabbled at Sam’s arms, mouth opening and closing but nothing coming out.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded with a voice cold as steel. He released the pressure on Cas’s neck slightly and Cas gasped for air, clinging onto Sam’s arms feebly.

Cas had a chance to take in the tall angel in front of him. He was soft and imposing all at the same time, even though his face was anything but friendly. His short-sleeved shirt revealed muscles and scars. His soft brown wings were almost the same color as his tawny hair, the only difference being the speckles dusting his wings. His wings. His wings were full, unruffled, unclipped, and glossy. It was like they still had their life in them, like this angel actually used them, actually flew. 

He was so absorbed in his surprise he forgot to be afraid for his life.

Sam slammed him back into the wall again to get his attention. “I said, who are you?” Sam asked again. The eggs were leaking through the paper grocery bags, smashed in the fall.

“I, Castiel… Novak,” he barely managed. “Dean… brought me… here.” Sam dropped him and took a step back. Castiel slid to the floor, gasping for air.

Castiel recovered himself a bit and stood, remembering his manners. He flattened his feathers and folded his wings just so, even if they were still a puffy mess after getting slammed into a wall. Offering his hand, he introduced himself. “I am Castiel Novak. You must be Sam. It is a pleasure to meet you.” The short introduction rolled off his tongue like a learned recitation. His feet found their way together and his back straightened imperceptibly. His other hand felt straight against his side, like a solder.

Sam sized him up as well. He must’ve decided Cas wasn’t enough of a threat to tackle again, because he stepped forward and took Cas’s outstretched hand. It may have had to do with his scruffy, shirtless appearance. Or possibly his wings. It may just be everything about him, actually. He wasn’t exactly feeling his best after all. Or maybe this was more of a regular occurrence with Dean than he expected.

Sam seemed to take an extra moment to mull over just what he wanted to ask Cas first. “So… where’s Dean? I’m only asking because he doesn’t usually make it a habit of parading half naked men around the secret man cave without calling ahead first,” Sam joked, leaning back against the counter, still managing to loom over Castiel.

Cas tried not to think too hard on what Sam may have been implying. “He brought me here.” He rubbed again at the stitches on his chest out of anxious discomfort. “He’s not here right now, though. He went out for, uh, food and to get me something to wear.” He gestured to the pile of torn clothes on the floor on the other side of the kitchen. 

Sam wrinkled his nose at the pile and asked, “Wow. What happened to you anyways?” he asked, pushing off the counter to start cleaning up his spilled groceries and put away things in cupboards and the fridge. “You want a beer?” he asked.

“I have never drunken alcohol,” Cas admitted. 

Sam made a face but he shrugged. “If you’re anything like me it’s going to take a lot more than one for you to feel anything, and we don’t have enough for that right now.”

“I believe I will take your word for it,” Cas answered. “As for the clothes, I had no time to bring an extra set.” Cas looked mournfully at his torn and useless, bloody shirt on the floor and scratched again at his stitches. 

Sam paused and gestured to his chest. “How’d you get that?”

“I was stabbed, but I do not blame Dean for it,” Cas said matter of factly. “In fact, I barely felt it. It was very unusual.” Cas shrugged.

Sam had stopped with a bag of parmesan cheese hovering between the fridge and the floor. “Blame Dean?” he asked.

“Dean was the one that stabbed me.”

“And you just, what, shrugged it off and kept going?” Sam asked incredulously.

Cas nodded. “It was most likely that demon blades simply do not possess the power or means to harm anything but demons to a serious extent.”

Sam raised his brows in interest. “That’s not common knowledge. Where did you pick that up?”

Cas shuffled uncomfortably. “In the institute, there is an extensive library. Mostly full of religious tomes needing to be translated. That was my job for a while.”

Sam gained an excited interest. “What languages? I mean what languages do you know?”

Cas looked to the ceiling for inspiration. “I know Arabic, Hebrew, Latin, Turkish and some French, Old English, High Germanic and Spanish.”

Sam gave an appreciative snort, “That’s one hell of a list. I only know some Hebrew and Arabic, but I’m pretty proficient in Latin. You end up picking up a lot when there’s nothing else to do all day,” he laughed bitterly.

“I understand the sentiment,” Cas nodded in understanding. He considered Sam. Sam was the most unusual angel he had ever met. He walked with the confidence and presence of any wingless man, the wings on his back acted as though they were just another pair of limbs, rather than an extra presence. He didn’t use any of the mannerisms Castiel was so used to. He treated himself almost as a human, but he was still, in a sense, a kindred soul.

He also knew one more language. One that the institute kept a guarded secret. “I… I also know a bit of Enochian,” he had finally decided to admit. Dean had saved his life, and this was Dean’s brother. If he could trust Dean and Dean could trust Sam, then it followed that he could trust Sam as well.

Sam’s eye’s widened like a kid plopped down in a candy store with a hundred-dollar bill. The groceries lay abandoned by the open fridge as Sam began talking so excitedly that Cas couldn’t hope to keep up. That and the loud whooshing of his excitedly fluttering wings rendered him imperceptible. He wandered off down the hall to the left still chattering animatedly and Cas worriedly closed the fridge before following after Sam with dawning apprehension.

Sam led him to the library and from what Cas could make out, Sam believed he had found some old tomes in Enochian, but was having a difficult time deciphering even the most basic word. Sam went to a seemingly random shelf and pulling on a book, Cas watched in amazement as the shelf itself detached from the wall and spun inward, revealing a much more ancient looking bookshelf with far thicker, dustier books that looked as if a single touch would send them crumbling to dust.

Sam started rifling through them, pulling out several older tomes as well as a stack of much more modern journals, papers, and books. Sam sat him down on the backless library couches, which were soft enough that he sunk into them like they were made of quicksand, and showed him the extent of his research into the Enochian language. Castiel was impressed with what Sam had been able to deduce on his own. It had taken Castiel years of instruction by half competent tutors and language books on the subject to even begin to be able to decipher the angelic texts. Only a handful of translators at the institute had gone through the same process. For whatever reason, it was important to every headmaster that they be able to study forgot bible and verse lost to time, away from the rest of the world

Castiel had forgotten how much he actually liked translating text. It was the only thing he was allowed to do in the institute that was even vaguely creative. Individuality was never encouraged, but when you translate something from one language to another, what is lost must be filled in by the translator, making Cas an author in his own right. 

Sam had been amazed at Castiel’s knowledge and grasp of Enochian and Castiel at Sam’s revelations that had slipped even his grasp. One word in particular, the Enochian for unicorn, had appeared frequently in the many texts Castiel had translated back at the institute. The general consensus was that the unicorn was a holy animal of God, second only to angels, which is why they were hunted to extinction by the devil. Sam, had found evidence in an old Turkish scrap of writing that the unicorn could also be a representation of the son of God, which, when combined with what Castiel knew about his own studies in Enochian texts, meant there was a second sons of God. It was unclear whether they were literal or figurative, but the revelation set Sam off and he was soon muttering furiously under his breath as he consulted a growing stack of books and an odd device Cas had been told was called a laptop. It was like a paper-thin version of the computers Cas had used back at the institute.

Technologies had not been encouraged at the institute. The only explanation ever given was, in Castiel’s opinion, a half assed excuse that electrical devices interfered with God’s miracles. But of course, electric lights were convenient enough to make an exception for. Hypocrites.

Sam was so far gone in a frenzy of work, that Castiel decided he could finally finish preening. He was still buzzing from the excitement of the day. The bunker, the freedom, the technology, Sam, Dean, everything. He turned and sat on the edge of the squishy couch, resting his bare feet on the cushion and letting his wings drape over the end and open freely. He reached around his chest and massaged the juncture between his wing and his skin, feeling the feathers there begin to slick with oils. Brushing his hand over them he pulled in the end of one wing and began stroking the feathers, feeling the relaxing peace of methodically preening after the hectic day. He had finished with the insides and just started on his outer feathers when he noticed the incessant sound of pages turning and pencils scribbling had stopped. His feather’s ruffled when he felt Sam’s gaze on him. He looked up and Sam turned away, embarrassed at being caught staring. 

Cas remembered what Dean had told him, about Sam growing up around humans having never really known another angel. To see someone else do something like preening so naturally must be… odd? Comforting?

“Are you familiar with allopreening?” Cas asked him.

Sam’s head jerked up, surprised at being addressed. His nose wrinkled in confusion. “Uh, no. I’m guessing it has something to do with these?” he gestured to his own wings.

Cas stretched his wings lazily. “Allopreening is when two angels, or anyone really,” he added for Dean’s benefit, “helps an angel preen by getting the hard to reach places on their wings,” he told Sam. He stood up and started to move behind Sam, reaching for his wings. “Do you mind?” he asked first.

Sam hesitated, but nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him. Castiel moved behind Sam and, once again reached behind him, smoothing down the feathers at his back. With his hands oiled, he started from the center of Sam’s back, smoothing, and straitening each feather. He watched his hands move carefully over each spot, the fibers of each feather coming together like a jacker zipper. He scratched lightly at the keratin covering new feathers and cleaned out any debris caught between feathers. 

When he had finished all but the primary flight feathers he asked Sam, “Could you please move your wing so I can get your tertiaries?”

Sam cocked his head quizzically but obliged. He watched Cas intently, craning his neck to see what Cas was doing. Cas finished preening Sam’s tertiaries, scapulars, and marginal coverts before he moved around to the other wing, which Sam extended for him.

When he had finished, he stepped back and Sam asked him, “Why did you stop?”

Cas tried to reign in his incredulous stare. Sam didn’t grow up around angels so there were some things he just didn’t know. “You never touch an angel’s flight feathers when you can help it. The primary flight feathers are entirely off limits,” Cas explained patiently, as though to a child struggling to understand the concept of negative numbers. “The point of allopreening is to preen the feathers the angel cannot properly get to themselves, nothing more. Even couples rarely preen each other’s flight feathers.”

Sam looked a bit affronted. If Dean’s behavior were anything to go by, Sam had not grown up with the boundaries Castiel had. He seemed to turn it over and then shook his head slightly, as if accepting the idea and then asked Castiel if he could try allopreening as well.

Cas agreed and sat down, instructing Sam not to go past the coverts on the back of his wings. He was a bit nervous at first about allowing Sam to preen him, but it had been so long since anyone had offered, and he just couldn’t let Dean do it. Not after what had happened last time. But he soon felt himself relaxing into the familiar feeling. Sam was obviously less adept at preening others, but he soon picked up the habit. Cas sighed contentedly, a rare feeling of absent anxiety settling around him like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer.

It was ruined of course when Dean got back, announcing his arrival by slamming the door and complaining loudly to the air. “I swear to God, nobody in this fucking state knows how to drive. Douche tried to cut me off and ended up rear ending the car ahead of him, so I had to wait for the cops to clear the road. It was like California traffic for miles,” Dean gripped loudly as he made his way into the bunker, dropping off a bag in the kitchen that was making Cas’s stomach rumble from the library and wandering down the hall. “Cas? You in here?” he called, only a slight twinge of doubt audibles in his words.

“In the library,” Sam yelled from his spot next to Cas on the couch, where he was now working on the inside of Cas’s right wing.

Dean came down the hall and almost instantly a grin split his face. He was no doubt ecstatic that Cas had taken him up on his offer and decided to take Sam under his wing, figuratively and quite literally at the moment. Cas tried not to smile at the dopey look on Dean’s face. It had thrown him completely the first time he had talked about his brother. Up until that point the only face he had shown was that of a battle-hardened survivor, grim and rough. The moment he mentioned his brother all of that had melted away, as if he had become a new person. 

Dean held up a shopping bag full of clothes and said, “Hey Sammy. Find anything interesting?”

Sam’s wings ruffled slightly, but he didn’t stop preening Cas. “I could ask you the same thing,” Sam told Dean. “Next time you could call and warn me we have a guest, instead of just hoping I don’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

Cas stiffened at Sam’s words, but the two brothers were laughing. Cas realized they must have been joking, but he found their humor to be in bad taste. He nearly had been killed. Maybe all people living in hiding grew a twisted sense of humor overtime.

Dean walked over and threw the bag of clothes on the table full of open books, sending a few pages flying. “Hey, watch it!” Sam complained. “I think I’m finally onto something.”

Dean just laughed and ruffled his hair. “Whatever you say, Sammy,” Dean teased him.

Cas watched this exchange with interest. He had never seen this kind of casual intimacy before. Not between two different creatures at least. He felt like an outsider just watching them talk. He wasn’t sure he should speak, to remind them of his presence. He felt as though he were intruding, like he should have left the room long ago. Possibly the bunker. He was a stranger here. He should leave.

Sam had almost finished preening Cas, so Cas shook him off, tucking his wings close so that Sam could not continue, even if he had wanted. He picked up the bag of clothes and mumbled a quick thank you under his breath, escaping to the bathroom to wash the grime of the week’s events. 

This place, these people. It was all too surreal. Cas began planning how best to proceed from here. The people hunting him would probably be looking far enough away that it would be safe to keep moving tonight. He let out a longsuffering sigh and, after a moment’s hesitation, entered the massive bath, stripping off the last of his ruined, muddy clothing. He still didn’t have any money, so he should probably take advantage of these people while he was here. If they were foolish enough to trust him, then he could hardly be faulted for taking just enough to tide him over until he could find another place to hide. He still wouldn’t feel good about taking advantage of them. He was exhausted, but he still wasn’t certain he should sleep in this place. It was all too easy. He was taking enough of a risk as it was.

He looked down at the massive bath with interest. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to turn it on, but then again, it was already full. He leaned down and stuck his hand in, but quickly drew it back. The water was freezing! He was considering going back to figure out the massive showers when he spotted a row of dials on the wall. He might as well try. One of the dials had been marked hot and cold so he tried turning that. When nothing happened at first he tried another dial, quickly shutting it off when enormous jets suddenly erupted beneath the surface.

He decided to leave the others alone in case he ended up breaking something by accident. To his surprise when he made to leave there was a thin layer of steam sitting over the bath. Well, maybe the first dial had worked after all. He knelt to test the water, finding it pleasantly warm. He stripped off his clothes and swung his legs into the bath. Cas stepped down the marble stairs, into the steaming water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this chapter first and had to change it to match the story so far, so if there's any continuity errors, please tell me. There's probably not going to be a lot of new angels after this chapter. Also, see that relationships to be added tag up there? I don't actually know who's going to end up with who yet. What do you guys think?  
>   
> Have a picture of Cas enjoying his first real bath. Comments and questions are always appreciated. My tumblr is [Memyselfandwhyworld](http://memyselfandwhyworld.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk there. Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and critiques are always appreciated. :)


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